


When the Season Calls Upon Us

by shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Holidays, Mostly fluff or an attempt at it, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28229541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/pseuds/shadows_of_1832
Summary: A short series of ficlets surrounding the holiday season.
Relationships: Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 13





	1. To Push Plans Ahead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LearaBribage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearaBribage/gifts), [Aurelia_Combeferre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelia_Combeferre/gifts), [angejolras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angejolras/gifts).



“What do you mean the donations are ‘just gone’?!”

“ _They’re gone, not there_ ,” Combeferre says to Enjolras over the phone. “ _Corinne and I made sure all was secure last night; someone must’ve picked the locks_.”

“Nobody saw anything? And the cameras caught nothing?”

“ _Prouvaire’s reviewing it again with the authorities now, but the power conveniently cut for a good half-hour last night_ ,” Combeferre says “ _There were no reports of outages in the area even considering last night’s storm_.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath, running his free hand through his hair. “Alright. Let me know when there’s an update.”

“ _Will do_.” And the line goes dead.

He has half the mind to throw his phone across the room, but instead settles for placing it on the coffee table while he collapses on the couch. He runs his hand over his face, then stares at the blank ceiling above him.

The sound of footsteps emerging from the hallway brings him to turn his head, to find his wife looking at him with a concerned expression on her face.

“That didn’t sound like anything good,” Eponine says, sitting down beside him.

“That’s because it’s not. All the toy donations that we were supposed to be taking to the shelter tomorrow morning were stolen from the Musain last night; according to Combeferre, they managed to even get into the safe, and Corinne and Musichetta not only had their daily deposit in there, but some cash donations from customers as well,” Enjolras explains. “Not sure how we’ll make up for the losses in such short notice.”

“I can understand the cash, but the toys too?”

“I find that part peculiar as well,” Enjolras replies, leaning forward. He takes a deep breath. “I have limited faith in the authorities finding out who did this, especially in time to get them over to the shelter, but it irritates me more that whoever did this, in-short may have ruined the holiday season for those who aren’t so lucky as you and me.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “Do you know if there’s anything we can spare that we can donate ourselves? It might not be much between all of us, or make up for what was lost, but perhaps we can at least pitch in something for those kids.”

“Perhaps, but for you and I, it would likely involve dipping into the funds we were setting aside for Quebec; I know you’ve been wanting to go there for awhile.”

“Quebec isn’t going anywhere,” Eponine says, reaching for his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know this drive meant a lot to you, and you mean too much to me, so I don’t mind putting the trip off for another year or two.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she replies with a smile. “And all the better if the others have anything to spare as well. I’m sure Marius and Cosette have quite a bit their little ones never used.”

“Right.” He places a soft kiss on her forehead. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Eponine gets to her feet, and reaches for her phone before handing him his. “I’ll call Azelma, see if she has anything; you get started on calling maybe Courfeyrac and Combeferre.”


	2. The Little Joys of Home

“Eponine, please tell me you’re not recording this.” Enjolras glances at her, her phone raised in a filming fashion with a sneaky expression on her face; his face is almost as red as his outfit.

“It’s nice of you to take over for Feuilly after his accident,” she says, suppressing a fit of laughter as her husband adjusts the fake white beard on his face. “The kids in the hospital are going to be so happy, though it’s a bit of a shame this year all has to be done over a video conference call due to the health regulations.”

“Those children need as much joy and hope as they can get nowadays,” he says, his voice grave. “What time is it?”

“About a quarter to nine; you’ve got time.” Eponine replies, pausing the recording and shoving the phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

She turns at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, as their daughters wander into the living room. Five-year-old Claire’s eyes light up briefly, then narrow at the realization it’s her father in the outfit, while three-year-old Joyce shouts, “Silly Daddy!”

“I suppose I look rather silly dressed like this, don’t I?” Enjolras says, leaning down to pick up Joyce.

“Mommy, why is Daddy dressed like Santa?” Claire asks, curious but concerned.

“He’s acting as one of Santa’s helpers for the kids at the hospital since Uncle Feuilly broke his arm,” Eponine replies.

“Oh,” Claire replies, appearing satisfied with that answer.

Enjolras sets Joyce back down and she follows her older sister into the kitchen.

“Don’t touch the cookies; we’re saving those to decorate later!” Eponine calls after them, to which there is a chorus of disappointed “Aw”s from their direction.

“You do realize if they can reach them, they’re going to sneak a few,” Enjolras says.

“If they do, it won’t be too noticeable; I’ve stashed a good portion of them in the cupboard above the fridge, and I had to use a stool to get up there.” Eponine glances into the kitchen, thankfully seeing the girls go after the fresh blueberry muffins on the cooling rack instead.

Enjolras takes a deep breath. “I should get the laptop set up, shouldn’t I?”

“It’s getting close enough to that time,” Eponine replies. “I’ll keep the girls occupied while you’re doing that, but afterwards, I want a picture of you in front of the tree dressed like that with the girls. And maybe something with you and I underneath the mistletoe later tonight?”

“In front of the tree with Joyce and Claire, sure, but I won’t let you do the latter; I’m not scarring them later on if they come across that.”

“We’ll see about that,” Eponine says with a smirk on her face as she walks toward the kitchen.


	3. What Leads Us Home

It’s been years since he’s seen her, but even so, Enjolras recognizes the pattern of her footsteps as she walks into his parents’ wine shop. He can only see the back of her head, but there’s no argument it’s her.

She turns, offering a small smile, though there’s a hint of grief, or was it regret, in her eyes. She goes over to the shelves, perusing the different wines. The burgundies, the champagnes, those from local wineries and the imports.

He’s staring, he realizes, as other customers bring up their choices to the counter.

“Awestruck?” an older lady asks him as he bags up the bottle, gesturing with a slight tilt of the head towards Eponine.

“Something of the sort,” he replies, giving the woman a curt nod as she leaves.

The shop goes quiet for a moment; it’s just the soft glow of the colored light strings strewn upon the shelves, him, and Eponine.

She approaches the counter with a bottle of burgundy, having difficulty meeting his gaze. “Long time, no see.”

“Yes,” he says, attempting to disguise the bit of joy seeing her again brings him, only then to remember the pain felt during their last encounter.

* * *

_She’s leaving. Leaving town, escaping this small piece of the world they’ve known their whole lives._

_“There’s so much out there than this; no one says we have to stay here,” she says, holding his hands tight. “I know if I’ll stay here, I’ll suffocate.”_

_He allows a few moments’ pause, witnessing the sadness that shows in her eyes as his reveal he is not of similar mind. “What do you want me to say? Eponine, our lives are here, our friends, our families…My parents, I can’t just up and leave them to run the shop alone.”_

_“You’re the one who always said it’d be a good idea to explore, to not let our roots hold us down.” Her voice turns bitter, and she releases his hands. “Did you not mean that?”_

_“I meant it when I said it, but things have changed too much since then,” he replies. “I’m sorry; I can’t come with you.”_

* * *

“I never thought you’d come back,” he says, reaching for the bottle she set on the counter.

“Azelma and Feuilly insisted; they wanted me to meet my niece and see how my brothers have grown up,” she replies, a half-smile on her face. “Little Amelia’s almost two, if my mind serves me right. A bit silly, isn’t it, to not even come in to town for that…”

“I’m sure Azelma will forgive it all the moment she sees you.”

“Are we talking about the same Azelma who wouldn’t speak to me for a week in middle school because I ate the last of the chocolate chip cookies your mother made for us?” she teases.

“I think she’s matured out of that,” he says, ringing up the wine and placing it in a bag. He takes a breath, searching her expression as she looks up, then glances at the clock. “So the shop closes in about an hour. If you’d like, perhaps we could meet up at the Corinth like old times and catch up, maybe talk over about…you know…”

She smiles. “I think I’d like that.”

He smiles back.


End file.
